“Now we finally have light!” a vendor excitedly tells a customer, one of many similar exclamations we overhear while wandering around the new temporary digs of the Mercat de L’Abaceria Central. Formerly housed in a historic building on Travessera de Gràcia in the Gràcia neighborhood, the market and its 56 food vendors, 43 food stalls, 13 clothing and kitchenware merchants and two cafeterias recently shifted to a nearby location as renovation work begins on the original structure.

There we are at Bodega Carlos, enjoying a homey and delicious batch of crispy fried anchovies and succulent stewed pork cheeks, when we suddenly hear birdsong. We look up, but neither canary nor nightingale can be seen flying around the high-ceilinged bodega-restaurant. But then the birdsong instantly switches to a sound we can best describe as a falling whistle, like the one that accompanies Wile E. Coyote as he falls from a cliff. Is it a bird, is it a plane, or is it a smartphone ringing with infinite improvised melodies? No, it is Carlos Estrada Roig, the owner of this friendly neighborhood bodega and an expert whistler.

Cal Pep is a name you’ll find across Barcelona, but it takes on a different meaning depending on which neighborhood you’re in. In Gràcia, the name Cal Pep is synonymous with an old bar-bodega, dedicated almost entirely to the business of drinking (Carrer de Verdi, 141). The Cal Pep in Born is a famous seafood restaurant in Born (Plaça de les Olles, 8), with lines snaking out the door. In Sants, Cal Pep is affixed to a charismatic bodegueta (small bodega). Narrow, long and dimly lit, this particular Cal Pep has the atmosphere of a wine temple – including wooden casks and a vintage fridge – that has been frozen in time, with most of the original decorations from 1927 still intact.

The peripheral neighborhoods of Barcelona – untouched by tourism and with cheaper rents – are a land of opportunity for chefs seeking an affordable place to set up shop. These areas in turn attract gourmet gold seekers in pursuit of a brilliant meal at a friendly price. In the residential streets of Sants, not too far from the city’s main train station, one restaurant shines particularly bright, with its eclectic style, influences and, of course, flavors: MinE. MinE is a combination of combinations, beginning with the owner and head chef, Martin Parodi. Born in Buenos Aires, Parodi is the son of a Japanese father and an Italian mother. He grew up in Barcelona, studied in France and then worked in a number of European countries.

The easiest way to pick out a bodega in Barcelona is to look for big wooden wine barrels – they always, and we mean always, feature prominently in these taverns. Locals frequent their neighborhood bodega for myriad reasons: some come to buy affordable bulk wine from the barrels to take home, others to have a vermut (vermouth) with anchovies, or other drinks and tapas, for an aperitif. Sometimes, in those special cases where the bodega evolved to include a kitchen, they also come to enjoy a magnificent meal. These living monuments were, and still are, witnesses to Barcelona’s history, from the Spanish Civil War to the gentrification and intense “touristification” currently taking place in the city. If the walls of Barcelona’s bodegas could talk, we would eagerly listen to the stories of neighborhood life in Barcelona over the last century

Despite the big wooden casks on the wall and the creaky shelves crowded with bottles behind the bar, wine is no longer king at Cal Siscu, an old bodega (wine store and tavern) in Hospitalet de Llobregat, a city located on the periphery of the Barcelona metropolitan area. The new ruler, who has deigned to keep these old relics from an earlier era, is seafood – every day the bar’s counter is covered with trays of majestic treasures from the Mediterranean and the Atlantic like prawns, clams, barnacles and sea snails. Founded by Francisco “Siscu” Rosés in 1933, Cal Siscu originally sold bulk wine and liquors. At that time, the only seafood served came from a can. Customers frequented the tavern, which also doubled as a home (Siscu and his family used to live upstairs), to fill up their wine jugs and sip on a vermut with some olives and conservas like tuna or sardines.

Flowers may be a visual treat, but they are also a regular ingredient in the cooking of numerous cultures. It’s not uncommon to find roses, violets, orchids, chrysanthemums or any number of flowers – more than 200 in the world are catalogued as edible – adding a pop of color or a surprising flavor to a dish. Flowers have particularly deep roots in Spanish cuisine. They featured most prominently in the food of Al-Andalus, the territory of southern Spain governed by Muslims during the medieval period. Influenced by the Arabs, Andalusian cooks used rose and azahar (orange blossom) to aromatize water and make syrups, jams and pastries.

Barcelona’s urban sprawl makes it easy to forget that the city is adjacent to two fertile regions to the north and south, El Maresme and El Baix Llobregat, which provide numerous hyperlocal culinary treasures throughout the year. In spring as in other seasons, these treasures appear at markets and restaurants, their origins proudly displayed, sometimes even with the names of the specific villages that they come from. The coast and gently sloping mountains of El Maresme are home to numerous villages, three natural parks and beaches. Unsurprisingly, there’s an abundance of seafood here, including gamba de Arenys (Arenys prawns), scampi (escamarlans in Catalan, cigalas in Spanish) and little Mediterranean sand eels (sonsos in Catalan).

Up in Barcelona’s hills, in the El Coll neighborhood, where the city ends and the sky is cut by the spiky shapes of the pine trees in Collserola Park, Agreste de Fabio & Roser is sprouting up. Emphasizing sustainability and healthy eating, the restaurant is creating delicious dishes that merge Catalan and Italian traditions with contemporary flourishes. Room manager Roser Asensi and her partner, chef Fabio Gambirasi, created this project (the name means “bad weed” in Spanish) less than a year ago and people are already singing their praises. On a recent visit, we could hear words of admiration from different guests flying around the room over the course of our meal.

El Practic doesn’t look like much at first glance. The small restaurant is sparsely decorated and populated by a few naked tables. Its location – in front of two massive buildings under construction in Cornellá de Llobregat, an industry-heavy municipality on the southwestern periphery of the Barcelona metropolitan area – is not where many people would choose to set up a restaurant. But chef Andrés Huarcaya was certain people would come. “I’ve worked in so many places,” he said, “and one day it hit me that if you do good work – this is the key – then people will come. On this street, nobody passes by at night. And yet we are always packed on Fridays and Saturdays – totally packed!”

There are many legends and myths surrounding the Pyrenees. Some claim that the divine hero Hercules created the mountains by piling up rocks as a tomb for his love Pyrene, who had died in one of the area’s forests after being bitten by a snake. While a romantic story, the Pyrenees are much more than a mausoleum and a symbol of mythic love – they are also the birthplace of Basque culture and a disputed border between Spain and France, a place crisscrossed by Roman roads and sprinkled with Roman architecture, a key point in the Camino de Santiago (Way of Saint James) and a legendary land for the Catalans.

Years ago, when it was a booming industrial center, Poblenou saw thousands of workers stream in every day to toil away at one of several factories in the neighborhood. Hearty fare was required to keep them going – sure, taste mattered, but sustenance was the most pressing concern. Poblenou may no longer be filled with factories, but there are still plenty of people who spend their weekdays in the area, working at one of the many start-ups, tech companies or communications firms that have set up shop in their place. When it comes to lunch, these 21st-century workers want the same thing that those who came before them did: lunches that fill their stomachs and satisfy their taste buds without leaving a big hole in their pockets.

In 1977, just two years after the death of Franco, the great Catalan gourmet Manuel Vázquez Montalbán published a book titled L’art de manjar en Catalunya (The Art of Eating in Catalonia). The book, as well as the prologue written by Montalbán’s mentor Néstor Luján, rang the alarm bells, claiming that authentic Catalan cuisine was in grave danger and on the brink of disappearance. As Montalbán saw it, the unique Catalan culinary identity has been reduced to a few ubiquitous dishes: pan a la Catalan (bread with tomato pulp and ham) and rabbit with aioli. This demise was due, in his opinion, to the frenzied pace of modern life, the lack of high-quality ingredients, the ignorance of both restaurateurs and tourists regarding what good cuisine, not to mention true Catalan cooking, looks and tastes like and, of course, the Franco regime’s efforts at suppressing regional identities.

“We may find in the long run that tinned food is a deadlier weapon than the machine-gun,” wrote George Orwell. He knew quite a lot about poor diets, as he came to Catalonia in 1936 to fight against fascism during the Spanish Civil War. He joined the leftist political party and then a militia that fought on the Aragón front for six months, so it’s quite likely that he had tinned food at some point – but only on rare luckier days. In his war diary, Homage to Catalonia (1938), he wrote about craving food at the front as well as many other remarkable experiences that he endured in that period.

On January 6, bakeries throughout Barcelona are filled to the brim with tortell de reis (roscón de reyes in Spanish), or kings’ cake. Whoever finds the king figurine hidden inside the cake is declared king for the day and wears the gold paper crown that comes with the sweet treat.